


Mariachis and Eggs

by Delphinapterus



Series: Leaving Oakdale [2]
Category: Supernatural, Wishbone
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Ghosts, Mistaken Identity, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphinapterus/pseuds/Delphinapterus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe has almost forgotten about his run in with Michael’s doppelgänger when he appears in his life once more. It’s summer and the air is dusty hot with the wind whipping up dust-devils in the afternoon. Joe has three hours left in his shift when Dean Winchester saunters into the restaurant with a black eye and the same leather jacket as before despite the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mariachis and Eggs

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Shay for the beta. Sequel to [Don't I Know You?](http://delphinapterus.livejournal.com/21667.html). Comments and crit welcome and appreciated.

Joe has almost forgotten about his run in with Michael’s doppelganger when he appears in his life once more. It’s summer and the air is scorching hot with the wind whipping up dust-devils in the afternoon. Joe is working as a waiter in one of the many restaurants that litter Austin. This particular one, _The Laughing Lama_ , is decorated in a cross between Hawaiian luau and Mariachi battle of the bands neither of which has anything to do with lamas as far as Joe can tell. The jukebox (a remnant from the restaurant’s previous incarnation as a 50s style dinner) plays only classic flamenco guitar. If he was feeling more ambitious and less like hanging onto to this job to pay his rent he might make sure that the jukebox remains silent and stands only as a dubious aesthetic touch in the corner. Eight hours of flamenco guitar has to be one of the tortures of hell but he supposes he should be grateful that the owner switched from the fast jangling of “authentic” mariachi music after a week and the resignation of one cook and two waiters.

 

Joe has three hours left in his shift when Dean Winchester saunters into the restaurant with a black eye and the same leather jacket as before despite the heat. Joe’s first thought is the gun Dean had last time, he wonders if the leather is settled over it hiding how it’s tucked against Dean’s side the way other people carry cell phones.

“Hey Joe,” he says.

His voice is slurry tired and all loose vowels but it still isn’t a Texas drawl. His smile looks more reflexive than real but yet there is something pleased about it.

“Hi.”

What else do you say to the guy you accosted for being Michael? The guy who told you to listen to Led Zeppelin and treated you like a little brother?  
Joe would like to ask Dean what happened to him but somehow he doesn’t think that would go over well. Instead he asks what he can get him. Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes in a way that looks repetitive and unhelpful in keeping him awake.

“Coffee and whatever ’s good.”

Dean leans back in the booth and his eyes drift shut for a second. The dark smudges under them are more pronounced than last time.

“Burger?”

“Sure.”

He takes a sip of the coffee and grimaces. Joe knows it’s old and probably sour by now but Dean just keeps drinking as though he’ll ignore the taste to get its sleep battling properties. He’s got to be desperate to drink it black. Joe fights a sympathetic shudder because he knows just how vile it is when it’s this old and just this side of being stone cold.

 

He picks up the dirty plates from another table and heads to the back. Dishes go into the dirty pile and he starts making fresh coffee. Dean will appreciate it. Joe’s sorry that he didn’t have fresher coffee for Dean the first time but he’s been deliberately keeping the old stuff for the jerks at table four. He looks over at Dean but all he can see is the top of his hair sticking up above the booth’s edge. Did Dean come here because Joe is working? Running into the guy twice could be coincidence, there’s no reason to see stalking in it but something about Dean’s smile made Joe feel uneasy. He knows that Wanda would dismiss it and his Mom would tell him to give the benefit of the doubt. He wishes Wishbone was here to meet Dean. Wishbone would know. His faithful old dog was always such a good judge of character, if he’d given Dean a pass Joe wouldn’t even be having this nagging worry in his head as he puts in the order for a burger but Wishbone isn’t here. Wishbone is living out his old age back in Oakdale on a soft bed that Joe brought him the last time he went home to visit. He isn’t going to think about the vet’s advice that his dog was exceptionally old already and he should prepare himself for the inevitable. He most definitely isn’t going to think about _that_. Wishbone had always liked people who were nice to him so he thinks Dean would probably get points for being nice about his mistake the last time but Dean always carries a gun and Wishbone, like his Mom, doesn’t like those (not even on Oakdale’s officers) so that would negate any points for niceness. Joe shakes him head and wanders over to refill Dean’s cup. He shouldn’t be trying to think of how his dog would evaluate Dean. He should be polite and assume that Dean’s appearance is just coincidence – after all Austin isn’t that big that it’s inconceivable that Dean could have ended up at _The Laughing Lama_ by chance.

 

Dean is slumped in the booth his head tipped back against the seat and eyes closed. He looks almost jaundiced in the yellow light from the stain glass lamps hanging over each booth. The mariachi mice are leaping around the edge of the lampshade the red from their outfits throwing spots onto Dean’s forehead. He tenses as Joe steps towards his table, one hand sliding down so it’s hidden inside his jacket. The move makes Joe nervous and he suddenly remembers the news reports of the loony who shot up a post office because his mail was damp.

“Can I warm it up for you?”

Dean relaxes and his eyes flick open. He covers a yawn with his hand and nods. Joe wonders why he isn’t in bed if he’s so tired. Joe knows Dean’s head jerk is a yes so he picks up Dean’s cup, unsurprised to find it empty, and refills it with fresh hot black coffee. Dean takes a gulp from it as soon as he sets it down and doesn’t seem to burn his mouth a feat which impresses Joe more than a little.

“So you find Michael?”

“Not yet.”

Joe isn’t sure how to explain that he really wasn’t looking for Michael in the first place and mistaking Dean was more accident and less purposeful search. Dean nods and gulps down the rest of his coffee. Joe refills his cup without being asked. He hears the _ding_ that signals an order up and turns away as Dean starts sipping instead of gulping at the coffee.

 

Dean’s eyes are staring straight ahead focused on some point only he can see when Joe returns with the burger. He sets it on the table and Dean just blinks slowly.

“Hey.”

Dean keeps staring at the same spot, doesn’t acknowledge him in any way, and Joe has to go get table four’s dessert order. They change it five times and ask about every ingredient in every dessert before settling on fruit cobbler. All that time Dean hasn’t moved. He returns with dessert to find Dean still looking into space. It’s getting down right creepy. Table four sends the cobbler back for the ice cream topping they declined twice before. Joe takes the long way just to check and see that Dean is still breathing. He is.

 

After depositing the newly ice creamed cobbler he goes to stand by Dean’s booth. The black eye is truly impressive. He’s never seen one that painful looking outside of the time Damont got into a wicked fight and got a fracture in the bone of his eye socket. Dean’s breathing is even and maybe a little deeper than normal. He wonders if maybe Dean is meditating but he just can’t reconcile the idea with the man in the leather jacket with a gun by his side. Joe clears his throat but his voice still comes out a little too gravelly.

“Food’s here.”

Dean’s whole body ripples into tension and he looks straight at Joe. “Great.”

Dean is already drowning his now lukewarm burger in chili ketchup when he looks up at Joe with one eye brow raised. He looks more awake than before.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you?”

Joe shifts and doesn’t answer for a second. When Dean’s eyes narrow he realizes that Dean is reading his non-response as a yes.

“When you off?”

“Couple hours.”

“Huh… alright. I’ll be here.” He pats the booth sharply and Joe realizes that Dean is going to stick around just so he can hear Joe tell him what’s wrong even though Joe isn’t sure how he’s going to say to Dean that what’s wrong is that he turned into a statue. Instead Joe nods and smiles hoping that it doesn’t look too fake. Dean is busy plowing through his burger so maybe he won’t notice.

 

For the rest of his shift he keeps one eye on Dean waiting for him to go off into statue mode again but all he does is eat and drink enough coffee that Joe’s sure he’s manage to go through four pots by himself. Table four has redeemed themselves by leaving a big tip but its next occupants, a couple with matching nasal whines, are really starting to grate on his nerves. He clocks out at precisely eight hours instead of working over like usual. Dean is leaning back in his booth. He paid with a shiny American Express made out to James Robert Plant. Joe isn’t going to say anything but he’s pretty sure the card isn’t completely legitimate; he isn’t making enough from this job to be bothered over a dodgy credit card anyway.

 

Dean is leaning against the wall next to the brightly colored lama statue when Joe comes out of the restaurant and the last strains of flamenco fade away as the door closes behind him. His eyes are closed again, and Joe wonders what made it so that Dean is good at catching such tiny naps. Even in the busiest times at university he’s never seen somebody able to snap between sleep and waking so fast. Dean’s hand is always just near his hip. His fingers brushing against the edge of the leather close enough that his hand can slip past the protection and reach to his waist. Joe is sure that there is a gun tucked there even if he hasn’t seen it like last time.

“So this is summer hey?” Dean’s voice isn’t as slurry as when he arrived but tiredness is still making his tongue thick so that his words round out and slip instead of being crisp.

Joe nods, “summer job.”

“You back to school in the fall? Sam’s probably doin’ the same thing.”

This last causes him to frown and he looks so worried that Joe really wants to press about Sam but Dean doesn’t seem to consciously talk about him so Joe doesn’t think he’d get any response even if he did ask. Dean sighs. In the lamp light his skin looks like the parchment paper Wanda used for making gnocchi. Dean looks down the street, eyes crinkled at the corners as though he’s looking for something hidden in the dark that the streetlights can’t banish.

“You got a car?”

Joe shakes his head, he’s been walking to save money and besides he’s not overly worried about getting jumped not in this neighborhood even in the dark night. Dean frowns at him and Joe feels like a little brother again.

“I’ll give ya a lift.” Dean says it like there isn’t a question of Joe accepting it.

“I’m fine really. It’s pretty safe out here, nothing in the dark to worry ‘bout.” Joe grins, trying to make Dean see that his worry is unfounded but instead Dean makes a teeth-sucking tsking sound that Joe is pretty sure means that he isn’t seeing any humor in his observation.

“I don’t mind. It’s better.”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“’sokay. It’s not far.”

“I got nothin’ pressin’ so c’mon. My car’s just there.”

Dean’s eyes are focused hard on him, like it’s important that Joe comes with him and gets into Dean’s car, like more rests on his actions than a simple car ride. For a fleeting moment he wonders if this is what a serial killer looks like when he’s luring his victims.

“I want to.” Dean’s voice is insistent.  
Joe looks but doesn’t see any car.

“I’d feel better Joe.” There’s something in Dean’s voice that makes him think of his Mom when she’s hiding her worry.

“Alright, if you’re sure it’s no bother.”

“It’s not. C’mon it’s this way.” Dean sounds pleased.

Joe follows him down the street. Dean is limping slightly as though something in his hip is tender. Joe can remember Michael walking like that when he lost control of his motorcycle and shredded his jeans as he went sliding on the road. Somehow he can’t see a motorcycle accident being responsible for Dean’s limp; especially when Joe would put money down that Dean didn’t have such a bad limp when he showed up earlier in the evening.

 

Dean’s car turns out be a gleaming black beast with its chrome shining in the street-lights so brightly it looks like Christmas tinsel. Dean unlocks the driver’s door on first try, as though he’s done it so often that it is second nature - more ingrained reflex than conscious movement.

“Get in.”

Joe is getting in a car with a man he barely knows and somehow all the street-proofing from childhood comes back to him, warning of the dire peril that he’s putting himself in, yet all he can think of is that Dean doesn’t seem that dangerous to him. He remembers feeling like a younger brother, remembers how Dean had remembered him and their last conversation, and he doesn’t feel unsafe. The car starts with a growl and Dean relaxes into the seat.

“Where to?”

Joe gives directions and tries to be casual about inspecting the car’s interior. It smells vaguely metallic with the underlying hint of fast food and leather. Dean shifts and Joe hears the leather of his jacket slide against the leather of the seats. Dean’s more relaxed than Joe’s ever seen him. The way Dean’s fingers stroke over the dash it’s obvious that the car is more than just transportation to him. They don’t talk on the drive to his apartment. Dean has something filled with drums and electric guitars playing low enough to be background noise. Joe can tell he’s humming along to it but not what it is. He figures that it must be old rock music since Dean seems to be a fan of that sort of stuff.

 

Dean pulls into a parking spot that Joe would have sworn was too small for Dean’s big beast of a car but somehow he manages to squeeze it in with room to spare.

“Well…uh thanks.”

Joe gets out of the car almost faster than is polite but he sure as heck doesn’t know what to do now. Dean slips out of the car and leans against it. The dark circles on his eyes make the rest of his face paler.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong now?”

Joe can’t believe it – the guy looks exhausted but he’s still trying to play big brother and help Joe out – it’s weird to see someone acting as though they’re used to putting themselves last.

“Look, get some sleep and we can talk later, ‘kay?”

Dean grunts and pushes away from the car. He sways a bit on his feet and Joe realizes that he is almost tired to the point of collapse. Dean is sort of an acquaintance and he can’t just let him sleep propped in the street or driving to wherever.

“Where you staying?”

“Don’t know yet,” the words are slurring again.

“You can stay with me.”

Joe isn’t sure what prompted that offer but he knows it feels right. Dean can’t be wandering around looking for a motel in the state he appears to be in and Joe would never feel right about not trying to help. His Mom would never let him live it down not with her iron creed of always being hospitable. Dean squints at him.

“You sure?”

Joe smiles, “My couch isn’t even too lumpy.”

Dean nods, “Alright. Lead on.”

He watches how Dean’s feet stumble slightly with each step as though he can’t manage to lift his boots from the pavement. The black duffle Dean grabbed from the backseat throws his gait off so the limp is more pronounced.

 

Joe’s apartment is small but neat. The neatness Joe can blame on his Mom’s influence but the hand-made pillows with good health runes on them are from Wanda and he’s been too sentimental to put them away. He hopes that Dean doesn’t recognize them and take him for a flake.

“Nice.”

Dean has kicked off his boots by the door. He moves around in his sock feet much more easily and when Joe moves his boots he’s surprised by their weight. The duffle is dropped by the couch and Dean grabs a round container from it. There is something about the package that makes Joe think he should recognize it. He turns around from checking the door locks to see Dean doing something to his window sills. Joe moves over to see what could possibly have interested Dean about them when he’s so obviously ready to sleep. Dean is putting salt along his window sills.

 

Joe starts to brush the salt into his palm but Dean grabs his wrist to stop him. Dean’s fingers are strong and hard around his wrist, his grip tight enough that Joe is worried that he might have bruises from it.

“Don’t ‘k? It’s safer.”

Joe nods, “Sorry.”

Dean lets go and Joe steps back. Dean has shed his leather jacket and Joe can see the dark gun tucked against his side. This is just great. He’s got a crazy person in his home. Why couldn’t he have passed up his Mom’s teachings and stopped his urge to be hospitable? But he didn’t and now he’s got a guy with a gun who he barely knows insisting on putting salt on all his windows and the outside door too. This is going to be a huge mess to clean up. Joe slips as unobtrusively as he can into the bedroom to retrieve extra bedding for Dean. He wonders about kicking Dean out but he can’t, not if he wants to sleep without his conscience prodding him for being uncharitable. When he gets back Dean is done with his salting.

“Here’s some stuff… uh make yourself comfortable.”

Dean nods and catches his bicep. This time his hand is gentle. “Thanks.”

Joe helps Dean get the sheets and blankets onto the couch before he heads back to his room. His last glimpse is of a deep purple bruise covering Dean’s left thigh and a line of dark stitches running up from the middle of the bruise to disappear under the hem of his boxers. Joe can’t help but be surprised that Dean wasn’t limping more.

“Night Dean.”

Dean slurs something that could be loosely interpreted as a good night. Joe shuts his bedroom door still trying to convince himself that Dean isn’t a psychotic who is going to slaughter him in the middle of the night. He’s puzzling over the salt thing as he drifts into sleep.

 

The next morning Joe is awakened by the smell of coffee and what sounds like the sizzle of bacon even though he’s sure that his fridge contained no bacon last night. It takes a minute for him to remember that Dean crashed on his couch. He’s alive so obviously Dean didn’t kill him in the night but he’s still freaked out by the salt thing but maybe it’s an OCD thing and Dean just can’t help it. He can hear his Mom telling him not to be a harsh judge.

 

Dean is standing at the stove in faded jeans and an olive t-shirt. His gun is nowhere to be seen but a cell phone is clipped onto his hip. Strangely enough the cell looks like it doesn’t belong with Dean. There is bacon sizzling in the pan and Dean deftly flips it with a fork. The grocery bag crumpled on his counter lets Joe know where the bacon came from.

“Jeeze Joe your fridge is sad.” Dean’s voice sounds teasing but with just a hint of worry under it.

“Yeah, well starving student, ya know?”

He keeps his voice light but Dean still turns to look at him, eyes narrowed as though he’s trying to figure out Joe’s nutrition levels by intuition alone. He isn’t sure how to break the tension that’s suddenly appeared in Dean’s stance so he does his best to ignore it while he pours coffee. The first sip has him gasping it’s so strong. Joe is sure this is the sort of coffee people mean when they say it’s strong enough to stand a spoon in.

Dean chuckles as Joe adds sugar and cream, “Not girlie enough for you?”

“This is strong enough for engine degreaser.”

It’s a phrase Michael had used once and Joe has always wanted to try it. Dean sputters for a moment then cuffs his shoulder.

“Here, you savage, breakfast’s done.”

The coffee aside Dean turns out to be a not bad cook. The bacon is crisp and the scrambled eggs fluffy and filled with cheese, ham, mushrooms, and peppers. The onions are sliced so thinly that Joe doesn’t even realize Dean put any in until he bites one and tastes it crunching onto his tongue.

“You didn’t have to you know.”

Dean shrugs, “Most important meal and all that. ‘Sides by the look of your fridge you could use it.”

“I don’t get paid until Friday so it’s lots of ramen until then.” He shrugs.

Joe is used to making do with ramen and frozen vegetables if he’s lucky or ramen and nothing if he’s not. Ramen should be considered its own food group given how much Joe and his friends eat. Apparently this isn’t so common for Dean who looks just a little bit green at the idea of eating nothing but ramen. He taps his fingers, lips tightening, and jabs at his bacon. Joe wonders why Dean would be so irritated by something so common. Dean has bought him orange juice with real pulp in it. Joe wants to tell Dean that he hasn’t had decent orange juice in months, not since he went back to Oakdale, but after the ramen he doesn’t think it would be wise to mention it to Dean. Instead he compliments Dean’s ability with scrambled eggs and is rewarded with a gruff “it was nothing.”

“So what are you doing back here?”

Dean doesn’t do anything as obvious as pause in the middle of sipping his coffee but Joe still gets the impression that he’s not sure how to answer a question that should be simple. His cup clicks against the table as he sets it down so carefully it could be made of eggshells.

“Just doin’ a little business and touchin’ up my beauty.”

It takes Joe a second to realize that Dean must mean his car. Dean’s smile is fond and Joe can remember seeing the same expression on Michael’s face after he slid out from under a car.

“All that construction up in Oklahoma wasn’t good for her. Got t' take care of her, you know?”

“Most reliable thing in life.”

It was something Michael liked to tell him whenever he’d point out that anything could be done at a garage easier. He can still see Michael’s frown at the very thought of letting somebody else tinker with his car.

“Yeah.” Joe is surprised by how bitter Dean sounds about a car being reliable.

“So what’s the business?”

It seems like a safer topic, but Joe would be willing to talk about just about anything if it got that bitter look out of Dean’s eyes. That much pain isn’t something to have at the breakfast table.

Dean shrugs, “Just this ‘n’ that, you know.”

“You travel a lot?”

“Yeah. I seen just ‘bout every state at least twice by now.”

Something about that makes Dean grin but Joe can’t see what’s so funny about bouncing around the country. He didn’t even like moving from Oakdale to Austin; the thought of moving around the whole country sounds incredibly unappealing.

“So what do you do?”

“Contract trouble shooter.”

“So people hire you to what? Fix things?”

Dean nods and crunches a piece of bacon between his teeth. “Sorta, yeah, like if there’s a problem and it’s my sorta problem then I get a call and come fix it.”

“Don’t companies keep people on staff for that sort of thing?”

Something about that makes Dean give a short surprised chuckle although it seems like a perfectly valid point to Joe.

“They have ‘em for like everyday sorts of problems, that’s not the sort of problems I handle.”

“Stuff that comes up once in a blue moon?”

“Exactly.” Dean smiles and repeats, “Once in a blue moon.”

He shakes his head like the phrase is funny. Joe can remember his Mom doing the same thing when he was little and said something that was truer than he knew at the time.

“What sort of trouble would it be?”

Dean shrugs and chases the last of his eggs around with a piece of bacon. “Just anythin’ they can’t handle. So how long before you’re gettin’ into the real world college boy?”

“hmm… ’nother year.”

“You got plans?”

“I don’t know, maybe go work for one of the parties. My Mom thinks I should go into law but, well it’s just too stressful you know?”

Dean’s hum of agreement sounds like he knows exactly what Joe is talking about. He wonders if Dean knows a lawyer or two.

“You should do what makes you happy.”

There is earnestness in Dean’s eyes that Joe associates with David’s kid sister who is always on the next crusade for change. It seems odd to see that same intensity in Dean’s eyes; so strong is overwhelms the shadows that don’t seem to leave them.  
Joe sighs. He has to stop himself from running a hand through his hair – it’s a bad habit that he’s trying to break – Dean refills their cups.

“I hate to disappoint her, mean she raised me after Dad died an’ I don’t know.”

Joe doesn’t know how to explain that somehow it seems like disappointing Mom is worse than if he had two parents. Sam and David never seem to feel as crushed as he does when he disappoints his Mom. He’s sure it’s got something to do with having two parents but he’s never been able to explain it to anyone.

“It never really changes. It was just Dad ‘n’ me an’ Sammy after . . . Sammy he was always more stubborn but something about having to pick up the pieces.” Dean shakes his head at something he isn’t saying. “It just helped you know and after so long I just can’t not – Sammy was too young to get it. You always remember, Joe, no matter what she’s your family and you don’t give up on her alright?”

The intensity of Dean’s words is almost a physical blow. He grips Joe’s hands hard in his own, green eyes focused on Joe’s own brown ones. “You always stick with family.”

Joe nods. “I know.”

Dean relaxes his grip and picks up his coffee. There are red marks on Joe’s hands from Dean’s fingers. He wonders what exactly Dean meant by picking up the pieces.

“Sam’s still at Stanford then?”

It seems like a safer topic – Dean always looks so fond when he talks about Sam even when it sounds like he’s half annoyed at Sam for not getting the problem with disappointing their only parent.

“Yeah, geek-boy is still in Cali. You don’t think he’s eating nothing but ramen do you?”

“Probably, he’s a student.”

It’s so obvious Joe isn’t sure why Dean needs to even ask but Dean is frowning again. There is something about ramen noodles that is making him agitated. Dean pushes his chair back abruptly and stalks over to the cupboard. Joe watches as he pulls out a package of ramen, all the while looking like it has done something to personally offend him. He reads the ingredients in silence except for little huhs of annoyance.

“Do you know how much salt this shit has in it?”

“Not really.”

“Jesus Christ dude, there’s enough salt to make an old guy blow a blood vessel. That much salt isn’t good for you all the time. Why not just eat it out of the shaker if you like it that much?”

Joe feels a bit stung by Dean’s rant. It’s as though he’s too young to take care of himself even though he’s been on his own for almost three years now.

“It’s cheap. I mean there’s a reason we’re called starving students.”

“There’s no vitamins in this either.”

“You sound like my Mom.”

Dean throws the packet back in the cupboard with more force than necessary and picks up another one. “Well forgive me for caring.”

Joe doesn’t know how Dean manages to sneer and look hurt at the same time – it must be an older brother talent. Dean disappears into the living room. Joe follows the sounds of his packing.

 

Dean is folding a shirt into his duffle. Joe can see the gun stuck into the back of the waistband of his jeans.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean flinches slightly. “Look, it’s just . . . never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. You can’t be expected to…”

“I’m sure Sam’s fine.”

Dean laughs, but it’s more of a choked grunt, “You don’t know Sammy. Stubborn bastard wouldn’t call if he was homeless.”

“You don’t talk to him?”

Joe could curse his impulsiveness but the way Dean says it just doesn’t make sense. He always assumed that by how fond Dean was of his brother it would be mutual, that they’d keep in touch no matter where Dean was doing his trouble shooting but it sounds like they haven’t spoken at all. Joe can’t understand how somebody like Dean, who talks about Sam with such parental fondness and love, could just stop all contact. It’s even more unsettling to realize that, from the way Dean talks anyway, Sam was the one who threw away all that love for something else. Even at his angriest he doesn’t think that he could ever cut his Mom or even Wanda out of his life for good. It would be too painful to be that alone, to not have anybody who knew about his childhood scraps and how he only wanted peanut butter and honey sandwiches for a whole month when he was six. Maybe it’s different when you have a brother? Honestly, Joe doesn’t think so. Even from the short time he had Michael as his surrogate brother he can’t imaging ignoring a brother. He follows Dean back to the kitchen where he goes back to the cupboard. He twirls another ramen packet between his fingers and Joe can see his lips pressed tight together.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Dean’s startled look tells Joe that the phrase did sound too old for him to be using. Dean twists the noodle pack once more and looks down at it. He grunts and throws it back into the cupboard.

“Sam. He is . . . he was always so picky about eating right; always had to have oatmeal even though it’s just gross at those diners. He was always on about the salt in the bacon all that crap.”

 

Dean slumps at the table, still frowning over the ramen.

“Look Joe, you haven’t seen or heard anything strange ‘round here have you?”

It’s such a complete change of topic that he’s a little taken aback. He’d thought Dean was still worrying over the idea of his brother eating ramen.

“No just, you know, it’s an old building so sometimes stuff happens.” Joe shrugs finding the question odd and out of place.

“Stuff?”

“Flickering lights, odd noises, that sort of thing. All old buildings have them.”

Dean makes a little clicking noise with his tongue that wouldn’t be out of place in his mother’s mouth.

“My neighbor swears she saw a ghost one night. So it’s a haunted old building.” Joe smiles waiting for Dean to share the joke.

Dean’s smile is just a little slow when he says “A ghost hey?

“Yeah, some guy in a cape.”

“Which neighbor?”

“Marlena in C4.”

“She home now?”

Joe checks the clock and groans. He doesn’t want to go to work. It’s beyond boring. Dean raises an eyebrow and sips his coffee. Joe is mildly jealous that Dean can pull a Mr. Spock eyebrow raise.

“I have work. It’s dull.”

“Two jobs?”

“It’s not that uncommon. Starving student and all.”

Dean looks vaguely ill at his attempt at a joke but says, “I’ll drive you if you want.”

“It’s not far you don’t have to.”

“It’s no trouble dude. I’ll come back, talk to Marlena about her ghost.”

“You want to talk to her about the ghost?”

“Well yeah.”

Joe suddenly has the feeling that Dean’s response was meant for someone else when he offers a hurried smile and elaborates with “I just like ghost stories.”

“Well in that case, sure I’ll take you up on the ride.”

Dean nods.

“Look, you’re going to be here for a couple days right?”

“Yeah probably why?”

“I’ll give you the spare key, saves you the hotel.”

Dean looks half amused and half worried. It’s the worried parent that shows in his voice when he speaks. Joe has to wonder how Dean manages to pull it off when he can’t be more than a few years older than him.

“Are you always this trusting?”

“Not usually, but you did make me breakfast.”

Dean chuckles, “Alright, thanks.”

 

When he gets back from work he meets Marlena leaving. She’s got a duffle slung over her shoulder and he can tell she’s on her way to work.

“Hey, did uh Dean talk to you about the ghost?”

“Yep. How do you know him?”

“It’s sorta complicated.”

She flips dark hair over her shoulder and grins, “Well you be careful ‘kay ‘cause he might be hot but he’s a little weird. Asked all these questions about the ghost like did it have any sign of violent death? And what was it wearing?”

“He’s nice.” Joe feels like he should defend Dean. A little brother would do that right?

“Oh Joe, I didn’t mean that. He didn’t even stare at my tits the whole time so that counts for a lot in my book. Just he looks like a dangerous man. I got to run but you stay safe.”

 

Dean is chopping onions on his cutting board when he gets in and there is hamburger frying on his stove. Dean has his cell cradled between his neck and shoulder while he chops.

“Yeah, I think I know who. Just got to get the grave.”

Joe doesn’t think he makes any noise but Dean suddenly turns around and mouths hello at him. He smiles back and thinks that it’s weird to see another man cooking in his kitchen.

“Yessir, no two days max.” Dean flips the photo shut and puts it down, “Sorry ‘bout that. How was work?”

“Boring like always. What do you mean you have to find the grave?”

Dean goes back to chopping the onions, “Just need a picture of it for a guy. It’s part of the job. Dinner’ll be done in ‘bout forty minutes.”

“Oh. Can I help?”

“Nah, not really. Set the table if you want.”

After he’s changed out of his uniform he sits at the table watching Dean cook. He’s reminded strongly of his mother when Dean holds out a spoon so he can taste. As Dean is gently stirring the meat he looks over at Joe and grins.

“Why didn’t you tell me that chick was a stripper?”

“It didn’t seem important.”

“Dude, she’s a stripper!”

“Only to put herself through school, hell I’d do it too.”

The spoon clatters against the stove top as Dean turns around. “What?”

Joe shrugs, “It’s good money and Marlena knows the right places to work so she doesn’t get pimped out.”

Dean has gone back to the meat but his shoulders look tense under the worn cotton of his shirt.

“That’s not common is it?”

Joe shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe, depends on where you are I guess. She said lots of her friends in Cali and NY do it.”

Dean takes a deep breath, “Stripping for your books huh?”

He sounds almost playful but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Dean can’t possibly think his brother is doing that can he?

 

Over dinner Dean tells him stories about his jobs but Joe gets the feeling that he’s getting heavily edited versions. There’s no way that Dean has to find a guy who had been living in an air duct for six years. He laughs anyway because Dean is good at spinning a tale. He even does voices and Joe is reminded of David playing with his sister when she was still in frilly dresses. He’s going to wash up but Dean just waves him away.

“I’ll do it. You work tonight right?”

“Yeah, in a hour.”

“I’ll drive you.”

It’s only as he straightens his work shirt that he realizes the lights haven’t flickers once since Dean’s been here. Joe wonders if the electricians finally came to try fixing the wiring again.

 

His shift is plague by couples breaking up; the men asking sharply for the check while the women give him tight smiles. Dean limps into the _Lama_ ten minutes before he is off. Even with a limp he looks like he belongs there. When people come in they look like they’re guests, just stepping in on sufferance, but Dean doesn’t. He slides into the same booth and Joe hurries to take his order.

"Just coffee.”

Dean has mud on his boots and his mouth is swollen. He grins up at Joe.

“Are you alright?”

He can’t help but ask when Dean shifts and the light shows off finger shaped bruises along his jaw.

“I’m good. Get me coffee, bitch.”

Joe stares at him and his face goes still. It’s like the happiness that danced in his eyes was never there. Joe finds it unnerving that Dean can change his emotions so quickly. He knows there was something from abnormal psych on emotional chameleons but he can’t remember it with the flamenco music tapping in his head. For the next ten minutes Dean drinks coffee and watches him work. Dean pays with a crumpled twenty and tells him to keep the change.

 

He doesn’t notice the smell until they’re back in the car but once they’re in the small space he can smell whiskey and cigarettes under acrid smoky fire. Dean’s bruises are dark smudges that if Joe hadn’t seen them in the light he’d have mistaken them for stubble. Dean smiles at him but it doesn’t make his eyes crinkle at the corners. Joe knows that if the light was better Dean’s eyes would be flat green and beautifully remote. He doesn’t get out of the car this time when he stops at Joe’s building.

“Bye Joe.”

“You don’t want to get some sleep? I don’t mind.”

Dean shifts, the leather of his jacket creaking, “I need . . . I have to get out to Palo Alto.”

“It’s midnight.”

“I’m used to it.” He sounds tired and edgy.

Joe is reminded of the safety commercials that warn against driving tired. He can hear the voice over in his head as Dean rubs a hand across his mouth. _Good night and sleep safe._

“Look, just a couple hours. It’s not safe to drive tired.”

Dean laughs but it isn’t a happy sound, “You worry too much Sam.”

“A few hours isn’t going to make much difference either way and you won’t have to sleep when you get there.”

“Yeah, alright.”

 

In the light of the apartment Dean’s bruises look worse. His lips are swollen and the bottom one is split. Joe gets him ice because it seems like the thing to do. Dean leans back on the couch and closes his eyes. He smells of smoke and there is a dark reddish smear on his t-shirt.

“I’ll shower in a sec.”

“Okay. G’night Dean.”

He can’t help but think that Dean’s sudden desire to get to California immediately has to do with his brother. He wonders if Dean is going to go back and mend fences with Sam. It seems sudden. He watches Dean carefully stand up and limp into the kitchen. The limp looks worse than last time.

“You know Sam… uh Sam’s probably doing just fine; eating ramen and waitin’ tables like me.”

Dean whirls around from the sink. He stares at Joe as though he’s trying to weigh him, judge him against a standard only Dean understands. Joe shifts a bit and stares into Dean’s cool green eyes so unlike Michael’s warm blue ones.

“You don’t know that. Christ.”

He stalks past Joe trailing the smell of bonfires and whiskey. A minute later the shower starts.

 

In the morning the bedding on the couch is neatly folded and piled on one end. Dean is not in the apartment and a quick check out the window shows his car is gone too. The salt still lines the windows and door. Lying on Joe’s kitchen table are two cassette tapes. Underneath is a scrap of paper that’s obviously ripped from a notebook. Dean’s writing is angular and dark. The note says “Listen to some real music for once.”  
On the bottom in a messy scrawl there is a number with an arrow pointing to it from the words “If anything weird happens call me.” It looks like Dean added it at the last minute.  
That does weird mean? He dials the number and listens to it ring.

“Yeah.” The voice on the other end is so gruff that he doesn’t recognize it.

“Dean?”

“Hey Joe.”

“What do you mean weird?”

“Just you know strange, unusual. Just be careful alright.”

He sounds so uncomfortable that Joe doesn’t press him. Michael would have been proud of him for not hounding Dean. Michael was a great believer in tact. Joe’s Mom was always telling him that he should learn that from Michael.

“I always am. You too Dean.”

Dean doesn’t say good bye when he hangs up.

 

He listens to the tapes; Metallica and something he doesn’t recognize until Marlena tells him it’s Lynyrd Skynyrd. The electrical never goes strange after Dean’s visit and Marlena says the ghost is gone. She’s a little sad about that but Joe can’t understand why. It was only an imaginary thing to start with. When they’re sitting pressed against each other on Marlena’s balcony she tells him that Dean Winchester is an amazing lay.

“I didn’t want to know that.” He says and takes a healthy swig of his beer.

“But he is. The things he does with his tongue. He’s ruined me for other men unless they’re trainable you know.”

He blushes and she laughs.


End file.
